


The FBI Agent Reading This

by pbandwhey



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, FBI Agent Geno, M/M, Mentions of Voyeurism, based on the fbi agent meme if it's not obvious, no for real it's very unrealistic, not hockey players
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-14 23:24:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13600659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pbandwhey/pseuds/pbandwhey
Summary: Geno’s been assigned to track Crosby, Sidney for about four months now.





	The FBI Agent Reading This

**Author's Note:**

> highly unrealistic, but it's based off of a meme. i don't know how the fbi works. i'm not a COP.

Geno’s been assigned to track _Crosby, Sidney_ for about four months now.

At first, Crosby had been a boring subject, rarely using the Internet for anything other than looking up hockey statistics and arguing on online forums. He always uses correct grammar when he types, and the rare instances in which he makes a typo become Geno’s primary source of entertainment. Even his masturbation habits are mundane; cycling through the same three gay porn videos in incognito mode at nine o’clock every night. Admittedly, Geno can’t fault his taste – the ones Crosby watches are some of his personal favorites, too.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t immediately found Crosby physically attractive. Full lips, nice eyes, dark hair and a set of shoulders that would make just about anyone’s mouth water. They train surveillance agents to be objective about their assignments, to separate themselves from their personal views and focus only on suspicious behavior, but Geno’s still not over that ass.

Geno, somehow, doesn’t know what Crosby does for a living. His file is blank, and he doesn’t speak or email or talk about his profession with anyone via his computer or cell phone. Geno knows that Crosby wears a suit for whatever he does and that he works pretty standard hours. Which is fairly bizarre, but not necessarily suspicious. His superiors don’t seem to care that Geno doesn’t know.

Not everyone gets watched by one specific agent; it’s typically reserved for those deemed a potential national security threat. And as far as Geno can tell, the only treason Crosby’s committing is his fierce dedication to the Montreal Canadiens. He really should know better – he does live in Pittsburgh, after all.

Geno asks, about a month in, why Crosby has to be watched. He gets some vague answer about how random immigrants are sometimes picked for surveillance, which seems like absolute bullshit. But Geno figures he’s not one to judge, considering he took the job.

There are probably more stressful subjects he could’ve been assigned to. He should probably count himself lucky.

He doesn’t even notice that he’s started to like seeing Crosby’s face every day until Crosby sticks tape over his webcam.

***

Geno whines to Alex about it while they’re taking the elevator down that night. The agency maintains 24/7 surveillance, but anything recorded outside of an agent’s shift is archived and saved for review the next day. Alex may be obnoxious at times, but he’s the only other person Geno regularly sees at work that speaks Russian.

Alex squints at him. “Thought you said he was boring. Why do you care if you can’t see his face?”

 “It’s just, uh.” Geno has to think about it for a second. Why _does_ he care?

Alex clucks his tongue. “I think I get it.”

“What?”

“You have a _crush,_ Evgeni.” Alex shakes his head disapprovingly, but he’s grinning. “Very unprofessional.”

Geno rolls his eyes. “I do not have a _crush._ I’m not a teenager.”

“What’s your explanation, then?”

Geno opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. But he can’t formulate an answer – just because he misses seeing Crosby’s hair curl when he’s just showered and is browsing the internet during breakfast, and the way he smiles at hockey highlights, and how his full lips part just slightly while he’s getting himself off—

Fuck.

Geno has a crush.

***

Geno tries to ignore it. It’s unprofessional as hell to develop feelings for Crosby like this.

But he can’t. Being aware of it makes it even worse. Now he looks forward to every noise Crosby makes, every forum entry and every watched video.

Now, Geno only sees Crosby when he skypes his sister. Crosby always takes the tape off of his webcam for that, so Geno gets around fifteen minutes of reprieve from his involuntary vacation from Crosby’s face. Geno barely resists the urge to take a screenshot of him laughing.

It remains like that for a couple more months.

Geno lives in Pittsburgh, like Crosby, and he’s started combing his eyes over crowds of strangers when he goes out in case Crosby happens to be nearby. It’s borderline stalkerish, but Geno figures that as long as he isn’t going to Crosby’s house, he isn’t crossing any lines.

(He probably is, anyways.)

***

Alex asks Geno to head to the library for him and check out a certain book. Geno refuses at first, but then Alex promises to pay for Geno’s takeout for the next few days if he does, and Geno isn’t one to turn down a good deal.

He squints at the note Alex wrote him with the name of the book. Alex’s writing is complete garbage, and Geno has to keep staring down at it as he moves through the shelves.

He isn’t looking at where he’s going, and he bumps right into someone. The guy stumbles backwards, luckily not falling, but he does drop the two books he was holding.

“Sorry, so sorry,” Geno says, squatting down to pick up one of the books for him.

“It’s okay,” the guy says, picking up the other, and –

Geno recognizes that voice.

He looks up to see Crosby’s face, just a small distance from his.

Geno means to try and make an exit as quickly as he can, so that he doesn’t make a complete fool of himself and give himself away and get himself fired for initiating contact with his assignment, but all he can do is stare, completely dumbstruck. Crosby looks even better in person, the light from the window behind him making his mussed-up hair seem to glow.

“Are you okay?” Crosby’s eyes are wide with concern – hazel, Geno decides, not brown like it says in the profile they have at the office – and Geno can’t do anything but nod, tongue still sitting dry and heavy and completely useless in his mouth.

He wordlessly hands the book over, and Crosby smiles at him, and Geno needs to leave right now. He stands up so fast he nearly overbalances, then backs away and turns so he doesn’t bump into the shelves as he leaves Crosby to his business.

It’s only when he’s halfway home that he realizes he never got Alex’s book. Whatever. Geno can pay for his own takeout.

***

Geno finds himself in the library again a few days later. It’s not a favor for Alex this time, he just – wanted to check out a book for himself. It’s absolutely, definitely, totally not because he hopes he’ll see Crosby again.

He grabs a decent-looking book from the history section – some World War II novel – and sits down on one of the cushy armchairs tucked in a corner behind the last row of shelves. The book is more engaging than he thought it would be, and he mostly forgets about Crosby while he reads.

Someone drops into the armchair next to his. Geno doesn’t really pay attention.

“Good choice,” Crosby says.

_Now_ Geno’s paying attention. He looks over. Crosby’s smiling at him, small and a little shy.

“What good choice?”

Crosby points and, right, Geno’s reading a book. “I read a lot of World War II books. That’s a good one.”

“Oh.” Geno looks down at the book again so he doesn’t stare for too long at Crosby. “Yes, I, uh. I like. Is good.”

“Glad to hear it,” Crosby says, smiling wider. He leans forward with his elbows on his legs. Geno doesn’t see a book in his hands. “Do you, uh, come here often?”

And that can’t _possibly_ be a line. Anything Alex has said to try and pick up girls at the bar can’t mean the same coming from Crosby. “Sometimes,” Geno says, which isn’t technically a lie.

“It’s a good library.” Crosby wrings his hands. Is he nervous?

Geno just nods.

Crosby clears his throat after a few seconds of silence. “So, I, uh. I’ll see you around, I guess.” He stands, hurriedly, and Geno can barely get in his own “see you” before Crosby’s walking back into the maze of shelves.

He blinks. What the hell was that about?

***

He doesn’t mention that he met Crosby – twice – to anyone at work. He could get in trouble for it, even if Geno didn’t give away any details about who he was or what he did. Geno doesn’t even trust Alex with it – Alex is infamous for his love of office gossip, and _Evgeni Malkin has a crush on his assignment and ran into him in a library_ would spread like wildfire.

So he sits, and monitors Crosby’s online activity, and stews over the fact that he knows slightly more about this man than he already did. Geno even goes back to check his notes. How hasn’t he seen anything that indicates that Crosby’s a history buff? Surely there would be something in his internet history about it.

The weirdest thing happens the night after he sees Crosby. Geno hears pages turning right before he goes to log off of his monitors, and then hears Crosby chuckle.

He can just barely make out Crosby saying “good choice."

***

Geno finds himself at the library for a third time.

It’s not even a ploy to see Crosby. He legitimately has to return the book he’d picked up. It was good, and Geno had blown through it quicker than he expected.

He slips it into the book dropoff slot, and figures that while he’s here, he might as well scope out another book to read. He has the author written in the notes on his phone, and thinks he’ll see what else the library has by the same guy.

He finds a book that looks promising, and turns around to head to the checkout desk.

“We just keep running into each other, don’t we?”

It’s fucking Crosby again. Geno curses internally, but manages to keep a friendly look on his face. He isn’t going to be able to handle it for much longer if he keeps seeing Crosby in the library, relaxed and smiling. The obvious solution is to stop coming to the library, but Geno’s starting to actually like the library.

“Yes,” Geno says. “Funny.”

Crosby’s smile falters a bit. That may have come out sarcastically. Geno feels bad, but then again, it may be easier to avoid Crosby if Crosby thinks he’s a jerk.

Before he can say anything else, Crosby’s passing Geno, squeezing by him in the narrow space. He looks Geno’s way one more time, before saying, “See you later, Evgeni.”

Geno’s halfway home before he realizes.

Crosby knows his name.

***

Geno panics that night. And the next morning. And during his drive to work and ride up the elevator.

There’s a note on his desk when he arrives, and Geno’s stomach twists unpleasantly. It’s a summons to one of the fifth-floor offices, the ones taken up by higher management. He doesn’t think he’s been in that particular room number, though.

He twists his hands together for the entire elevator ride up. It has to be something to do with Crosby, right? Is he just being paranoid? It can’t be a coincidence that his assignment knows his name, right? He’d never actually met Crosby before that first time at the library.

Geno tries to reason with himself. Maybe Crosby overheard him stating his name to the librarian who was at the checkout desk. Maybe Crosby saw his library card somehow.

Or maybe Crosby knows him because Crosby is sitting in the office when Malkin opens the door.

Crosby immediately gets up from his desk chair when he sees Geno. “Okay, don’t freak out—“

“What _you_ doing here?” Malkin hears his own voice crack. “What is happening?”

“Evgeni, please, try and calm down. Take a seat and I’ll explain.”

Geno’s still frozen in place. Crosby sighs. “Evgeni, sit down.”

The chair’s very comfortable, but Geno can’t possibly relax in it. His eyes drift from Crosby to the thin bookshelf behind him. He sees the first book he’d checked out sitting on the shelf, so. At least that wasn’t some elaborate ruse.

Crosby clears his throat, just like he had almost a week ago. “First of all, I’m perfectly aware that I’ve been your assignment for the past few months.”

“No shit,” Geno says, before he can think. Crosby doesn’t look pissed, though, just apologetic.

“I understand if you’re angry. But your surveillance of me was part of your training.”

“I – what?” Geno’s even more confused now. “I finish training months ago.”

Crosby fiddles with the corners of some papers on his desk. His fingernails look like they’ve been chewed on. “We told you that you’d finished training, but we weren’t entirely sure. So we wanted to give you a mock assignment. Uh, me.”

Geno just blinks. So this whole time, he’s been absolutely useless. At least this answers the question of why he couldn’t figure out where Crosby worked or why he would have to be monitored.

Crosby shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. Again, weird. Geno would’ve expected a higher-up like Crosby to have better composure than this.

“You should know that I’ve been watching you, too. It’s why I went to the library.” He smiles, a little sheepish. “I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to actually test how you would react to seeing me, but luckily you ran right into me.”

That doesn’t answer everything. “How you know I’m going to be at library?”

“Well, I – I have the same access to your computer microphone as you have to mine. I heard your exchange with Ovechkin about the book.”

Geno almost accepts that. But also – “Phone, too?”

Crosby nods.

Geno smells a rat. He remembers other things he’s talked to Ovechkin about. Such as the thing about Crosby taping over his webcam. “What you hear on phone?”

Color rises into Crosby’s cheeks. He swallows, looking nervous, which seems even odder than everything else. Why would Crosby be nervous?

“I – okay.” Crosby stands up, and Geno instinctually starts to rise up too. Crosby gestures for him to sit back down. “I don’t know how to put this, uh, normally, I guess.”

Geno waits for Crosby to continue. He doesn’t. “Put what normally?”

Crosby walks around the desk, stopping when he gets close to Geno. He takes a deep breath. “Evgeni, I’m about to do something that will, in all likelihood, get one or both of us fired, depending on how you respond to it.”

Geno’s hands tighten around the armrests. “Kill me?” He wouldn’t necessarily blame him. He has, after all, talked about Crosby’s ass to Alex. That probably warrants some form of punishment.

Crosby rears back. “What? No. God no.” He steps in front of Geno’s chair. “I want to. Um.”

“Want to what?”

Crosby bites his lip. “Could you stand up? It’ll be easier.”

Geno hesitates, but he does. At least it’ll be easier to escape when Crosby tries to – he doesn’t know. Kneecap him? Strangle him?

Crosby doesn’t do either of those things. He just puts his hands on Geno’s shoulders, takes a deep breath, and then rises up on his toes to kiss him.

And Geno must have better reflexes than he thought, because he doesn’t even hesitate – he sinks right into it, wrapping his arms around Crosby’s waist to pull him even closer. It makes Crosby moan, deep and low in his throat, and Geno can’t do anything to respond other than to tighten his arms and keep kissing him, again and again until Crosby’s hands are in his hair and he’s tugged Crosby’s button-up out from where it’s tucked into his slacks so he can run a hand along Crosby’s bare skin.

They pull apart to catch their breath, and Crosby’s pupils are totally blown. He’s panting and his face is flushed, and Geno’s reminded of how Crosby looked when he jacked off, before he taped over the webcam.

Apparently Crosby’s having the same kind of thoughts. “God, I wanted you so badly – I wasn’t supposed to, but – fuck, I wish I could take you home right now.”

Geno leans down to bite at Crosby’s earlobe, drawing a breathy sigh out of him. “You have office,” Geno says, half-joking. But Crosby’s eyes just get heated.

“You’re right.”

***

They get fired.

**Author's Note:**

> a twist! m night shyamalan, there's a new sheriff in town.


End file.
